I often begin without knowing what I am looking for.

A piece of wax. A lump of clay. A surface that reminds me of something I cannot quite name.

I love shaping abstract forms without thinking too much. Letting my hands find their way.

My hands seem to remember. With repetition, they become more certain, even when I am not.

In clay, the forms grow larger. What might have rested against the body begins to occupy the room.

Then I begin to question what I have made. Too much? Not enough?

Sometimes I go too far. I smooth, adjust, correct. The form becomes more finished, but less alive.

Bjørg